A Very Sunderland Thanksgiving
by Feriku
Summary: The lighter sequel to "Something to Protect." It's Thanksgiving Day. The Sunderlands see a lonely holiday in front of them, so James invites Angela and her new friend Walter over, while Frank asks Henry and Eileen to come by. What could possibly go wrong?


_"Gosh, it's going to be a fun evening. My family had dinners like this on Republic Day. No serial killers, of course[…]"-Imperial Commando: 501st_

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A Very Sunderland Thanksgiving

(The lighter sequel to Something to Protect)

It was a beautiful day in Ashfield. The sun was shining, not a cloud was in sight, and the wind was refreshing, not yet the icy blast of winter. Autumn leaves brightened the neighborhood around South Ashfield Heights, and not a soul would have guessed that terrible things had once happened there.

It was Thanksgiving Day, and one on which most people truly did feel thankful. The streets were empty, except for those people still doing last-minute grocery shopping. Most people were either gathered with their families, or on their way to visit them.

There also was a mildly heated argument taking place, in the car parked alongside the apartment building.

"Why should I promise anything?" the blonde teenager asked, staring rather sulkily at the book in front of her.

The man in the driver's seat sighed and rubbed his head. Even after all these years, James Sunderland wasn't entirely sure how to handle his adopted daughter. He liked to think she had mellowed as she got older, but he tended to suspect she just became a quieter troublemaker.

"Please, Laura. Grandpa—"

"He's not my grandfather," she muttered.

He lifted his eyes for a moment in a silent plea for help. "Dad's looking forward to seeing us," he said finally. "You _know_ how much he enjoys these times when we all get together."

"Why do I have to promise to be good?" She smirked. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

Several things ran through his mind—most notably the time when Laura had told Frank the circumstances of Mary's death. He felt a twinge of sadness at the memory. He missed her so very much. Sometimes, he still lay awake at night, asking himself if he had done the right thing.

He knew his father hadn't meant to hurt him by asking. Before he could decide what to do—telling him that Mary had died from her illness seemed safest, but dishonest—Laura had answered for him.

He'd thought Frank was going to burst into tears.

He glanced at Laura. She was still smiling, mischievously for sure, but never maliciously. "Please promise?" he tried.

She rolled her eyes. "If you don't trust me to be good, then why do you think I'd keep my promise?"

"We could make a bargain," he suggested. "If you don't keep your promise, then—"

"If I'm only good if there's something in it for me, what's that going to teach me?"

He hated when she said things like that.

"Now look, Laura…"

"You say you love me, but you don't trust me at all," she accused, giving him the saddest look he could imagine.

He hated when she did that even more.

"Fine," he sighed, getting out of the car. "You win."

"Yay!" Laura set down her book and hopped out, looking far happier to be going to South Ashfield Heights than she had all morning. "I thought this was going to be a boring holiday, having to sit around with you and Frank all day, but maybe I'll have fun after all!"

He hoped he hadn't created a monster.

James looked up at the apartment building, and then at the trunk of the car. "Did I bring anything?" he asked out loud.

"You don't remember?"

"…No."

In fact, there was a very good reason why he couldn't quite remember, and as he stared at the trunk of the car, he felt a sinking feeling fill him. He just knew he wasn't going to hear the answer he was hoping for.

"You didn't bring anything."

He knew it.

He leaned against the car and closed his eyes.

"What's wrong, James?" Laura actually sounded genuinely concerned, for once.

"Dad asked me to bring the dessert." He even had gone out and bought a lovely pumpkin pie. It was probably looking quite lovely in the refrigerator where he had left it.

"Can't you just go and buy another one?"

He opened his eyes and frowned at her. "In _this_ town?"

"I'll go!" she offered, looking hopeful.

He regretted the day he had broken down and told her about the monsters he had faced in Silent Hill. She sometimes seemed to think that if she had been safe there, she could do anything.

"Let's just go on in and hope Dad forgot about it," he said, reaching down to take her hand.

She took a step away from him. "I'm not a little girl anymore." She raised her eyebrows. "Or did you want someone to hold _your_ hand?"

He glared at her and led the way into South Ashfield Heights. She giggled softly, and he shook his head. If Mary was looking down at them, he hoped she was proud of them for making it as a family.

It was a quick walk to Room 105, and Frank answered the door almost immediately.

"My favorite relatives!" he shouted, loud enough for half the building to hear him.

Laura rolled her eyes, but she said nothing as the white-haired man hugged her. He was dressed casually, in a white sweat-top and blue jeans, and his eyes were bright with happiness.

"Lovely in blue today, I see," he said, as they walked into the apartment together. "You get prettier every time I see you!"

"Thanks," she laughed.

"And James. You're looking as good as ever. I was starting to think you weren't going to come visit me ever again!"

"Don't be silly," James said, giving his father a hug and then closing the door behind them. "So, has anything important happened lately?"

"Important?" Frank gave him a quizzical look.

"You know, any major news specific to the area?"

"What sort of news?"

James inwardly winced. So, he _hadn't_ guessed why his son was so reluctant to come around lately. Their last conversation on the matter hadn't gone well, and he didn't want to hurt his feelings by directly questioning his ability to keep them safe.

"How's the police department?" he finally asked.

"They're fine, I'm sure…"

"How's business?" he tried.

"Business?"

Laura let out an audible sigh. "He wants to know if they caught the murderer."

James glared at her, but she was skipping past them into the living room.

"Well, why didn't you just ask?" Frank laughed. "Don't worry about a thing, James. That's all over with."

"So they _did_ catch him?"

"No."

James decided the best thing to do was remain very calm. "One of your tenants was attacked in this very building, Dad. If they never caught the man who did it, why shouldn't I be worried?"

"When Henry Townshend moved out, I asked him if he knew anything about it, and he told me I could stop worrying." Frank nodded as though that closed the subject.

"How did Henry Townshend know?"

"Oh, I have my suspicions." He grinned. "Come on, son, trust me once in a while. You're perfectly safe here."

How was it that two members of his family could use the same method to get him to agree within ten minutes of each other, and have it succeed both times?

He wasn't sure, but he felt too guilty to press the point about the murderer. Things had quieted down, after all.

"It's gone!" Laura cried suddenly. She was standing by the bookshelf.

James took all of ten seconds to remember what Laura had discovered on that shelf the last time they had visited, and he immediately wished he hadn't. Why? Why did his father have to keep things like that lying around?

"What did you do with it?" she asked, staring at Frank.

"I…err… It just went missing. I guess somebody took it." He glanced down at the ground.

"Someone _stole_ the umbilical cord?" Laura gasped. "Wow! Wait until I tell the kids at school about this!"

"Laura—" James began, but then he sighed and didn't finish his sentence. It would be pointless to argue about something like this. Besides, she wouldn't really tell her friends about the umbilical cord Frank had kept in his room.

He hoped.

"It's really great to have you two here for Thanksgiving!" Frank said. "Come on, sit down!"

James followed him into the living room area and sat on the familiar, green couch, just as he always did when they visited. He hoped this wasn't going to be one of those visits where they just sat and had nothing to talk about. Laura gave the clock a wistful look before sitting in the chair alongside them.

"How's school, Laura?"

"Fine."

"Not too hard for a smart girl like you, I'm sure."

"No."

"Meet any nice boys yet?"

She gave him a flat look and didn't even answer that one.

An awkward silence followed, and then Frank shrugged and began to tell them what was new in Ashfield. When he was done, James told him everything new that had happened in their lives recently. Laura fidgeted and glanced at the clock, and he couldn't help but look as well. Twenty minutes had passed.

It was going to be a long day.

After a while, James said, "Well, I'm glad we're all together today."

"Why?" Laura muttered under her breath. "So we could all be bored together?"

"That's not nice," he chided, frowning at her. "It's Thanksgiving. It's a time to be thankful…and to be with each other."

"She's right, though," Frank said glumly. "I'm bored. I can tell you two are bored. What kind of a way is this to spend a holiday?"

"We could see what's on TV?"

"Yeah," his father sighed unhappily.

James picked up the remote control and turned on the television. He flipped through the channels until he found a station showing the Thanksgiving episode of an old comedy show.

"They seem to be having a good time," he pointed out.

"Look how many of them there are."

"What?" He looked over.

Frank looked depressed. "Don't you remember the old days, when the whole family would get together? There would be so many people—laughing, telling stories, and just generally having a good time. Now, all I have are the two of you."

"Just because there's only the three of us here doesn't mean we can't still have fun!" he protested.

"Admit it," Laura muttered, "you're as bored as I am."

"Yes, James, we still can have fun. We can watch this show, and talk, and enjoy each other's company. But wouldn't it be better if we had a lot of people here? If I were preparing a large Thanksgiving dinner? If I wasn't going to have leftovers until Christmas? If we could sit in a room filled with laughing, talking people, and say, 'Yes! This is Thanksgiving!' Wouldn't that be better?"

Sometimes, he suspected his father was a little bit insane.

"Well, I guess that would have a different feel to it…"

"I feel so lonely!"

James sighed. He wished spending time with them didn't leave Frank feeling lonely. Having something to talk about would probably help the situation; he knew they weren't the greatest of company when they were bored.

"You'll have to invite friends over, sometime," he finally said.

Frank didn't say anything, but James couldn't tell if it was because he didn't like the idea, or because he was thinking.

"Look at it this way!" Laura said. "We'll still have the food. The food will taste good no matter how many of us there are!"

That seemed to cheer him up. "Very true, Laura! There'll be the turkey, and the mashed potatoes, and the cranberry sauce… Oh, and of course, the pumpkin pie! The pie is my favorite part. It'll taste even better knowing it was brought by you two!"

She smirked, and James's heart sank.

Frank frowned. "Come to think of it, how did you bring the pie in without me seeing it, James?"

xXx

James gave the grocery store a dismal look. He could already see the lines at the checkout. Apparently he wasn't the only one who was doing some last-minute shopping for Thanksgiving…and from the look of things, most of them were getting far more than a last-minute pie.

With a sigh, he entered the store. There were some scuffmarks on the otherwise-white tile floor, and he hoped people didn't fight over turkeys on Thanksgiving the way they fought over toys on Christmas. The items were neatly organized, in aisles marked by signs hanging overhead. It was in sharp contrast with the chaos of the shoppers. He headed toward the aisle where the frozen pies were kept. It would probably thaw by the time he paid for it.

There was a gap right in between the cherry pies and the apple pies, and his heart sunk as he read the tag beneath it. Apparently there had been a run on pumpkin pies.

"Apple pie fits Thanksgiving just as well as pumpkin pie does," he said to himself, grabbing one. It looked good enough on the box, and he was sure no one would complain too much about dessert.

He walked back to the front of the store and gave the lines another look. At least he could get in the one marked "7 items or less." There were still ten people waiting there, but it was almost guaranteed to go the quickest.

He got in line and found himself staring at the back of the head of the dark-haired woman in front of him. Something about her seemed oddly familiar, even though he didn't think he knew anyone in Ashfield.

After a moment, he had it, and he gasped, "Angela?"

Angela Orosco turned around, with a frown that quickly faded to disbelief. "James?"

He wasn't quite sure what he should do next. He hadn't forgotten Angela and her terrible past, and he knew that hugging her would be quite inappropriate. So would announcing that he had thought she died in Silent Hill. He considered telling her that she looked great—despite the years that had passed, there was somehow a younger, renewed look in her eyes—but he wasn't sure she would accept it as a compliment.

"I'm glad you got out of Silent Hill alive," she said, saving him from having to think of something. "I never thought I'd see you here."

"My dad lives in Ashfield," he explained. "We're visiting him for Thanksgiving. I'm glad you got out alive, too."

A shadow passed over her face momentarily. "It…took a long time."

"Oh." He shuddered. Even the memories of what he had encountered in that town gave him nightmares. He couldn't imagine having been trapped there for a long time. How long had she been there? From the way she had said it, he suspected it was years.

They stood there in silence, and he felt the sudden need to say something. "I left the pie at home," he said, showing her the new one. "They sent me to get this."

She smiled, and after a moment, tilted her basket so that he could see inside. A frozen pumpkin pie—probably one of the last ones that had been left—was in it, along with a can of peas.

He suddenly wondered if she was going to be spending Thanksgiving alone. He didn't expect she'd be visiting her family, even if they did live somewhere around here. Even as edgy as she was around people, he was sure she must get lonely. Years of thinking she was dead had filled him with regret, and he had always wondered if he could have handled things differently to save her. Now, perhaps he had a chance to make up for that.

Thinking back to Frank's lament about Thanksgiving was all it took for him to make up his mind. "Angela," he said, "would you like to spend Thanksgiving with us?"

Her eyes widened with surprise. "Me?"

"Yes," he said, feeling awkward. "There's only going to be three of us, and Dad and I were just talking about how nice it would be if more people were over."

"Thank you… I…" She glanced away. "I was going to spend Thanksgiving with my friend…"

James now felt even more uncomfortable, and it was made worse because he wasn't sure if she was telling the truth or not. It wasn't that he was surprised to find out that she had friends—that wasn't it at all; of course she would make friends after escaping Silent Hill—but that it could be a way of refusing the invitation without seeming rude.

"If he wanted to come…" Her voice was hesitant and she trailed off.

"Well, he's invited, too," James replied, feeling a little baffled by the turn the conversation was taking.

"I think I can convince him. He's very nice, but he still has some trouble being around people."

Something in her voice caught his attention, and he took a closer look at her expression. He was dying to ask more about this friend, but he didn't want to appear too interested. He hoped they would come. Now, he really wanted to meet anyone who could make Angela smile shyly when she spoke of him.

"Well, if you decide to come, we're at South Ashfield Heights. Dad's the superintendent there. Go to Room—"

"South Ashfield Heights?"

"Err, yes."

She nodded. It was her turn at the checkout, so she put her items on the conveyer belt. "Walter's familiar with South Ashfield Heights."

"Great," he said, surprised. That was interesting. "I hope to see you—both of you—later."

As Angela paid and got ready to leave, she smiled at him. It wasn't quite a trusting smile, but at least she didn't seem to hate him. "It's ah, good to see you again, James," she said.

"You too," he responded, as he got ready to pay for his pie.

He couldn't wait to get back and tell Frank the good news.

xXx

When James returned to the apartment, however, it was Laura who answered the door.

"He went out," she said, before he could even ask. "He said I could stay as long as I promised not to break anything."

"And did you?"

"Break anything? Of course not!" She smirked.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I hope he comes back soon, because I have news that should cheer him up. I saw Angela in the store—do you remember her? She was in Silent Hill."

"Was she the other lady that was there?" Laura asked after a moment of thought. "I saw her, but I never spoke to her."

"Well, she's in Ashfield, and I invited her and her friend over for Thanksgiving!"

"Oh no, it's not Eddie, is it? I don't think we have enough food!"

"Laura, that's not nice!" he hissed, but she just rolled her eyes. "Anyway, no, it's not Eddie. I—he—Eddie never made it out of Silent Hill. Angela's friend is someone named Walter, and I've never met him before. If she likes him, though, I'm sure he's a nice guy."

"Uh-oh."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, taken aback by her response.

"I just hope her friend isn't the sort who'll be scared away if he finds out about Mary."

James flinched. "Laura!"

"Come on, James, you know you need my help!" 'Have you ever been married?' 'Yes, but my wife is dead now.' 'Oh, I'm sorry. What happened?' And then you do this." She put on a blank, wide-eyed stare. "By the time you'd figure out if you should tell the truth or not, no one would believe the answer anyway."

"It's a very painful topic," he said with a frown. "And when you just blurt out what happened…"

"Oh, fine," she sighed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. "If the question comes up, I'll just leave you to fail on your own."

It was at times like this when he felt sure that she had gotten _more_ difficult to handle the older she got.

"Here, take the pie into the kitchen," he said, handing it to her.

"Why me?"

"Because I'm your father—"

"Guardian."

"—and I said so."

She stuck out her tongue and took the pie.

He shook his head and began to look around for a convenient place for Frank to have stored chairs. It would be very embarrassing if there weren't enough places for them to all sit around the table. They'd have to eat Thanksgiving dinner in the living room area.

"James, this is apple pie!" Laura called from the kitchen.

"I know!" he shouted back. "They were all out of pumpkin!"

"But I like pumpkin pie better!"

He considered telling her to deal with it, but instead suggested, "Maybe Angela will bring the pumpkin pie that she bought!"

She bopped out of the kitchen and asked, "So does this mean we can have the pie we were supposed to bring when we get home?"

"Maybe."

She smiled, but then the door opened and Frank came in.

"Guess what?" he and James asked at the same time.

Frank waved a hand for him to go first.

"We're going to need to set two more places for dinner!" James announced, watching his face carefully to see his reaction.

He had expected delight, enthusiasm, surprise, and possibly even joy. Instead, what he saw was shock and blatant confusion.

"How do you know?" Frank asked.

He blinked. "Because I just invited a couple of people over…"

"Oh!" Frank clapped his hands together. "Then we'll need to set _four_ extra places for dinner!"

"Oh boy," Laura muttered, leaving them to go sit in the living room.

"Four?" James repeated. "You mean…you invited some people over, too?"

"Yes! You remember Henry Townshend? Well, I don't think you ever met him, but I've mentioned him before. He and his neighbor, Eileen, moved out a while ago, and I've been waiting for a chance to talk to them again. They were good tenants, real nice people, but they've been avoiding this building like the plague."

James couldn't help but glance around nervously.

"Well, after our conversation, I realized that they were probably spending Thanksgiving with no one else but each other, so I went and invited them! They seemed a little strange about it, but they said they'd come!"

He counted silently to himself. There was the three of them, then Angela, Walter, Henry, and Eileen—there would be seven there for Thanksgiving dinner! He had to admit, the thought of spending the holiday with a larger number of people was appealing, now that it was going to happen.

"Do we have enough food?" Laura called.

"Of course!" Frank cried. "And if we don't, we'll just buy another turkey! The important thing is that we're going to have fun!"

"You know," James said, "I think this might turn out to be the best Thanksgiving ever."

xXx

He still couldn't find anything good on the television. James finally gave up and turned it off, just as Laura entered the room with an amused look on her face.

"I think he's cooking everything he could find," she commented, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

"I guess this is the most exciting thing that's happened to Dad in a while."

"Other than the umbilical cord being stolen, you mean?"

There was a knock on the door then, saving James from having to answer that one. He shouted that he would get it, and hurried over. He opened the door and saw Angela, dressed in a white turtleneck and looking a bit nervous. Looking over her shoulder was a man he assumed must be Walter. If possible, he looked even more nervous.

"Happy Thanksgiving, come in!" James greeted, stepping back so that they could come inside.

Angela walked in, looking around at the apartment as she did so. Walter followed, closing the door behind him, but he seemed less interested in looking at the apartment and more concerned with the people there.

James studied him, as well. He had to admit, he wasn't quite what he expected. Knowing Angela's painful past, he had been trying to imagine what sort of person she'd be comfortable with. If he was honest with himself, he had expected someone who looked meek and as though she could take him in a fight, and Walter didn't meet either of those criteria. He had long blonde hair and green eyes, was wearing a blue coat, and he had the build of someone who could easily take care of himself—if he wasn't there as a friend, James would have classified him as _dangerous_.

"Oh, uh, I'm James," he said quickly, realizing that an awkward silence was descending over them. He held out his hand.

"I'm Walter." He stared at the hand for a while, and then finally he reached out and shook it.

James was beginning to suspect that they had been drawn to each other out of mutual insanity.

"You were in Silent Hill," Laura said, tromping into the room.

"Yes," they replied in unison.

She raised her eyebrows. "I was talking to Angela."

"This is Laura," James hastily intervened. "She was in Silent Hill at the same time as me. I adopted her. Laura, this is Angela, and this is Walter."

He was just beginning to hope that they could keep the conversation from getting too strange, when Frank walked in from the kitchen, oven mitts on his hands, and let out a huge gasp.

"It's you!" he shouted, looking completely shocked. "The man with the blood!"

"As opposed to those of us without blood?" Laura muttered quietly, but James was more interested in Walter's reaction.

Walter was looking at Frank with something close to alarm on his face. "Oh…you remember me?"

"Remember? How could I forget? Why, you're wearing the same coat and everything! I even had dreams about you!"

James glanced around, wondering if anyone else was finding this exchange particularly bizarre. Angela just looked mildly curious, as if this sort of thing happened around Walter all the time. Maybe it did; it would certainly explain his nervousness. Laura was staring at Frank like he was out of his mind.

"They were odd dreams, too. I only saw you there with the blood, but did I dream about that? No… I always dreamed you were walking around the building, crying, and looking for your mother."

"Oh, wow—" Laura began, but James shot her a glare before she could say anything rude.

"My mother abandoned me in this building," Walter said. He said it distantly, as though he had carefully removed all emotion from his voice first.

"What?" Frank gasped. "You mean, you were the baby I found in Room 302?"

"Yes."

Laura's eyes grew huge. "Then the umb—"

"Laura!" James hissed, cutting her off. She looked at him, and he shook his head sharply. This conversation was surreal enough without her bringing up that _thing_ that his father had hung onto for years. He was worried enough that good old Dad might just announce it himself.

Fortunately, Frank had other matters on his mind. "I've always wondered…were you the little boy that always used to come around here?"

"Yes."

"And now you're back. That's amazing. So many strange things happen in this world… You'd hardly recognize the place now. When you used to come around…wow, Joseph Schreiber must have been the occupant of Room 302, then. He disappeared a while back. No one knows what happened to him. And you must remember Richard Braintree. Would you believe he was actually murdered? Let's see… How old were you when you stopped coming? You might have met a little girl named Eileen Galvin; well, she moved away after she was attacked…"

For whatever reason, Walter now looked panicked.

Angela looked at him, then cleared her throat and said awkwardly, "I, um, hope that's not the food burning."

"Burning?" Frank cried. He ran back to the kitchen.

"Thanks," Walter whispered. He smiled at Angela, she smiled back at him, and James stared at both of them.

There definitely was something there. She could say he was her friend, but just looking at the two of them standing together, he knew there was more to it than that. Perhaps it was that she was letting him stand relatively close to her, or that his expression seemed to soften whenever he looked at her.

Laura took advantage of his distraction to start again, "So, if you were that baby, then the umb—_mph!_"

James clapped his hand over her mouth and smiled at them in a way that he hoped would keep them from asking questions. They stared at him like he was crazy, and he supposed that was good enough.

"Why don't you go on into the living room?" he suggested, pointing in the right direction with his free hand.

They did so, albeit slowly and without taking their eyes off of him and Laura. When they were finally out of earshot, he let go of his adopted daughter and whispered, "Will you _please_ not mention that?"

"But James," she protested, "if it was his, then he has a right to know it was stolen!"

"Why should he even care?"

"If someone stole one of my body parts, I'd care!"

He carefully hid his smile and tried to look firm. "Laura, we're talking about an umbilical cord. I don't know where mine is, and if people want to steal it from one another, than that's just…" He trailed off as his thoughts caught up with what he was saying. It wouldn't be fine; it would be creepy.

She smiled triumphantly.

James quickly shook his head. "Look, if some old guy kept my umbilical cord for years and years, I _wouldn't want to know_. It's just too weird. This is a holiday, Laura. I don't want it ruined by our guests running out of here because they think Dad's insane."

She giggled. "I want to know what that bit about the blood was all about."

He groaned.

"So," she said, in a tone that he had unfortunately come to recognize over the years, "if he already knows that Frank had it, then there's no problem with him learning about the theft, right?"

"I suppose…"

"Okay."

He looked at her suspiciously. "What are you plotting…?"

"Plotting?" she asked, with a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Nothing!"

She headed into the room, and he reluctantly followed. His imagination was being filled with wild ways that Laura might steer the conversation around to being about umbilical cords. He hoped that she'd at least get it out of the way quickly, and not save it for while they were eating.

Laura returned to the chair she liked, and James joined Angela and Walter on the couch.

"So, you've been to South Ashfield Heights before?" he asked politely.

Walter nodded.

It would have been easier if he had said something. James was becoming uncomfortably aware that he had invited these people here and now had no idea of what to talk to them about.

"I hope you weren't too alarmed by the superintendent's comment about me coming here with blood."

"I rarely leave home without my blood," Laura confided, nodding seriously.

Walter looked at her uncertainly.

"Uh, Dad says a lot of strange things," James said. "So no, I wasn't too alarmed." In fact, he hadn't been alarmed at all until now, because he had been putting it down to something Frank had said while meaning something else.

"Yeah, he does strange things too," Laura said, glancing in the direction of the shelf.

They both followed her gaze, while James tried to pretend he was somewhere else. Of course, there was nothing unusual about the shelf now, and they probably would think she was as crazy as Frank.

"Why are we looking at the shelf?" Angela finally asked.

"Oh, no reason," Laura replied.

"Don't mind Laura," James said nervously. "She finds family visits boring, and then she starts to come up with ways to entertain herself." Too late, he realized that he had just given her a perfect opening.

She beamed at him. "Well, Frank's apartment isn't the most exciting place in the world. He used to have some interesting things around here, though…"

"I'd imagine," Walter said.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Some interesting things were kept on that shelf, for example."

James put his head in his hands. Maybe this wasn't going to be the best Thanksgiving ever after all.

"Anything that belonged to me?" Walter asked dryly.

"See, James? He does know!"

James didn't lift his head. He didn't want to look at any of them right now.

"James thought you might go running out of here if you knew that Frank used to keep your umbilical cord in a box on the shelf, but I wanted to tell you, because I thought you should know that it was stolen!"

"Don't worry. I know what happened to it."

"You do?"

"Yes, but you won't believe me."

"Yes I will!"

"No, you won't."

"Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

James listened to them argue for a while before lifting his head and whispering to Angela, "What is going on?"

She jumped, seeming startled by him speaking to her. "Oh, uh…they're arguing about whether she'll believe his story or not."

"I know that," he sighed. "What I mean is… What…?" He waved his hands uselessly. He couldn't find the words to ask all of the questions he had. And since it sounded like Laura was now demanding that he at least explain the blood comment to her, he had the feeling that more questions were just going to start piling up.

Angela raised her eyebrows. "You don't like Walter, do you?"

"No. Yes. I mean, no, that's not what I meant."

Her look of skepticism only increased.

"I'm starting to wonder if he has had an odd past," he finally said.

She stared at him for a moment before saying, "You…you… Of all people, you would ask such a thing, James? You were in Silent Hill looking for your dead wife!"

He flinched. "Yes, I know, but…"

"How could you…_judge_ someone, just for seeming odd, when you don't know anything about them?"

"Okay, okay," he said, holding his hands up in placation. She had taken that a bit more personally than he had expected. Knowing that Walter's past was a sensitive issue didn't calm his worries at all.

The argument had stopped, but now Laura was interrupting whatever story Walter had agreed to tell. "What, sacraments? Does this have something to do with religion?"

"Okay, do you know anything at all about the Order? The cult of Silent Hill?"

James put his head in his hands again. He didn't even want to know where this was going.

"Hey," Angela said. "James?"

He looked up.

"Don't worry about it. He, ah…he did have a strange past, but he's changed. He got me out of Silent Hill. We don't have any secrets from each other," she added awkwardly, "and, well…I trust him."

He had a feeling they more than just _trusted_ each other, but he didn't mention it. "Good point," he said, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. It was true that if Angela honestly trusted Walter for whatever reason, he probably was trustworthy. On the other hand, he wondered just how _strange_ his past had been.

"Hey!" Frank interrupted them, hurrying in. "I have good news and bad news."

"Oh no," James groaned out loud, unable to help himself.

"The good news is that the turkey's done! The bad news is that I lost the instructions."

"Instructions for the turkey?" Laura asked disbelievingly.

"No, for the knife! Anyone know how to use an electric knife?"

"Is it anything like a chainsaw?" Walter asked.

He was probably joking, but Frank took the question at face value.

"Exactly like one!" he shouted. "Come on and help me carve the bird!"

James didn't consider himself an expert chef by any means, but he was pretty sure an electric knife was nothing like a chainsaw. On the other hand, he had also thought it was a simple enough tool that you didn't need to follow instructions just to cut turkey.

"You're joking about needing instructions, right?" Walter asked, as he followed Frank into the kitchen. "I mean, you _do_ have some idea of what to do?"

"Oh, yes. The whole thing hinges on the idea of _cut_," Frank explained.

"That's Dad!" James announced cheerfully to the bewildered ladies.

"Can I go watch?" Laura asked, staring in the direction of the kitchen. "This could be better than the comedy channel!"

"Laura, please," he groaned.

Angela was also looking that way. "I hope he doesn't decide to do anything…theatric…"

"Which one?" James muttered. "Look, nothing fazes Dad. Walter could wave the knife around while laughing maniacally, and as long as he cut the turkey eventually, Dad wouldn't mind."

"Good."

He really hoped that wasn't what actually would happen. It had given him the sudden terrible idea that Frank's easy comparison between an electric knife and a chainsaw might have resulted from watching horror movies during the commercial breaks of cooking shows.

"So how did you get out of Silent Hill?" he finally asked.

Angela blinked at him and then looked away, and he realized the memories were probably still vivid.

"I'm sorry," he began, but she waved her hand.

"No, no, it's all right. It's just…I was trapped there for a long time, and…I'd rather not talk about what happened."

"Okay. You don't have to."

"I eventually met Walter, though."

"What was he doing there?" Laura asked.

"Err…looking for someone to help."

James raised his eyebrows. Even speaking as someone who had gone there looking for a person he knew was dead, that seemed like a weak explanation.

"I didn't believe it either at first," she admitted, "but it was true. He, well, helped me against the monsters and everything else. We talked about our pasts, and…I guess we became friends out of that." She shrugged and looked away again.

"What's his last name?" Laura asked.

"Sullivan. Why?"

She smirked. "No reason."

Frank and Walter returned then, looking respectively pleased and dubious. Frank had brought in a plate of appetizers, which he enthusiastically passed around.

For a moment, James wished he didn't know his father as well as he did. If he didn't, he might not realize that this was the aftermath of a culinary disaster.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing! We just got a little carried away."

"Don't even ask," Walter said, sitting down on the couch.

Frank started to say something else, but then there was a knock at the door. "That's them!" he shouted, running for it.

"Okay," Laura said, tapping Walter sharply on the knee to get his attention, "now, you were in the middle of telling me a story."

James shook his head with a sigh and ate his appetizer. The appetizers, small sandwiches that seemed to have used shredded turkey as one of the ingredients, tasted good enough, so it couldn't have been too bad. He wondered if all of the turkey had been shredded, or if this was their way of hiding the early mistakes.

From the door, Frank shouted, "Henry! Eileen! I'm so glad you could come!"

Walter choked on his sandwich.

"Something wrong?" James asked.

"Who just arrived?" he asked between coughs.

"Two of Dad's old tenants." He stood up. "We really should go and introduce ourselves. I've never met them."

When everyone else also stood up, he thought that the rest of the day was going to proceed without any more strange incidents. However, when they reached the apartment door, Frank turned to them with a big smile, but then frowned and asked, "Did you lose someone?"

James glanced behind him and saw that only Angela and Laura had made it that far. They both shook their heads, although Laura seemed amused, and so he just shrugged. He hoped someone would eventually tell him what was going on.

"All right," Frank said, sounding confused. "Err, anyway…this is my son, James. James, this is Henry Townshend, and this is Eileen Galvin."

Henry struck him as a very serious sort of person, perhaps because he didn't smile very much as he shook his hand. He had brown hair and was dressed fairly casually, in a green shirt and blue jeans. Eileen greeted him with a much more open smile. She also had brown hair, although hers was longer than his, and she was wearing a plain black dress.

"I'm pleased to meet both of you," he said. He stepped aside to indicate Laura. "This is my adopted daughter, Laura."

"Hello," Laura said, shaking their hands. "So, are you the one who told Frank he didn't have to worry about the murderer anymore? How did you know?"

There were days when James wished he had let someone else adopt her.

"And this is my friend Angela," he said loudly, hoping they'd just ignored Laura's outburst.

Angela didn't shake their hands, which wasn't too surprising, but she seemed far more nervous than he had expected. She kept glancing behind her at the apartment's small hallway, and he suspected he knew why.

"Why don't you all go sit in the living room?" he asked, waving his hand in the general direction and backing into the hallway himself. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

He waited to make sure they were going. Frank, Henry, and Eileen all went in to sit down, but the other two stayed.

"Leave him alone," Angela said.

James blinked. "Are you going to tell me why I should pretend he never came in?"

She shook her head.

"Then I'm going to find him and ask him myself." He started checking rooms. There weren't that many, so he didn't think it would be too hard.

"I bet I know what it is," Laura said, following him. "He was right—I wouldn't have believed it!"

"Obviously you would," he disagreed, "if you believe it now."

"No, that's only because I came up with it on my own."

He didn't quite get her point, but he didn't ask.

"What is it you've figured out?" Walter asked, looking out from where he had been standing behind the bedroom door.

James jumped and almost bumped into Angela, who frowned at him and stepped out of the way.

Laura folded her arms. "She said your last name was Sullivan. I think you're _the_ Walter Sullivan, the murderer who died."

"I've died twice now, actually," he admitted.

"Wait, I'm right?"

They stared at each other.

"What?" James shouted, and when they all shushed him, he lowered his voice. "I think I misunderstood you somewhere."

"No, you didn't," Walter assured him. "She's right."

Now that he said that, James realized that he did remember reading an article once about a murderer named Walter Sullivan. It still seemed impossible. He supposed, though, that in a place like this, anything was possible. After what he had seen in Silent Hill, where did things become unreal?

Then he remembered that not only was Walter Sullivan alive and well, but he was also standing just a few feet away. James jumped backwards and wondered what someone was supposed to do at a time like this.

"I told you not to worry about his past," Angela said sharply.

James put his head in his hands. How had this happened? He had woken up in the morning like he always did, had gotten ready to go on a nice little visit to see his father for Thanksgiving…

"Not like you have room to judge people, James," Laura muttered.

He glared at her. That hurt.

"I've killed," Angela admitted quietly.

James held up his hands. "Now wait a minute, there is a _world_ of difference between one mercy killing or self-defense killing and…" He glanced at Walter.

"Nineteen. No, wait, eighteen. Yes, eighteen. The eleventh doesn't really count, because that was me."

"Eighteen. _Eighteen_ people?"

Laura's eyes were huge. "Wow, wait until I tell the kids at school about _this_! This beats a stolen umbilical cord any day!"

She didn't appear particularly upset. For that matter, Angela looked like she might start lecturing him at any minute. He was getting the distinct feeling that he was just overreacting.

Eighteen.

"Do I even want to know why you're hiding?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.

Walter glanced away, and Angela answered for him, "Those two who just arrived… They're…well…they were twenty and twenty-one."

"Twenty and twenty-one," he repeated flatly. He was starting to understand why Henry Townshend knew things about the mysterious murderer in Ashfield. He didn't know all of the details, but he didn't want to, either.

"You mean you tried to kill them?" Laura gasped. She grabbed Walter's arm and began pulling him into the hallway. "Come on! This is a perfect time to apologize!"

"Apologize?" he asked.

"Yes, so they can forgive you!"

"Forgive?" Angela repeated, staring at her like she was crazy.

To James's bewilderment, Laura looked over at him as though appealing for help. He had no idea why she thought Henry and Eileen would just calmly welcome their would-be murderer if he said he was sorry.

"Oh, come on, James! Mary forgave you, didn't she?"

He threw his arms up in the air. "That's completely different!"

"It's okay. We'll leave," Angela said. "You can just…make up a story for us, I guess."

Laura stomped her foot on the ground. "No, that's not fair! We were all going to spend Thanksgiving together!"

"I'll ruin their Thanksgiving if they see me," Walter said.

"Coward!" she shot at him.

He glared at her, and since she looked like she was about to start hitting him, James grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her backwards.

"Hey!" she protested.

"What's going on?" Frank asked. The noise had apparently gotten their attention in the living room, and the three of them had come to see what the problem was.

James, Angela, and Laura all spun around and tried to look casual.

"Going on?" he asked, hoping he sounded innocent. He certainly didn't _feel_ innocent. After all, he was currently trying to hide a man who had killed eighteen people, himself, and had been trying for a couple more.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Walter had slipped out of sight again. There was no sign that he had been seen, so they probably could talk their way out of this. Maybe they could pretend that they'd gotten into some sort of argument.

It might have worked, too, except that Frank had never been let in on their mysterious secret.

"You're all acting very strangely," he said, frowning, "and what happened to Walter, anyway?"

If James had wanted any confirmation of Walter's story, Henry and Eileen's faces provided it, as they exchanged alarmed glances and then chuckled nervously.

"What's wrong?" Frank asked, looking back at them.

"Oh, nothing," Henry said.

"It's just that we…knew…someone named Walter," Eileen added. "It can't be him, though. He's dead."

James closed his eyes and silently prayed that Frank wouldn't decide to tell them more about Walter. This wouldn't be the time, for example, for him to explain that he'd been abandoned in this apartment building. They might _know_, and then the entire plan would go up in smoke.

Not that he was entirely sure why he was helping.

Frank turned his attention back to the rest of them. "So, where is he?"

"Gone," James said.

"He had to leave suddenly," Laura put in.

"I might have to leave, too," Angela added.

He thought that would be the end of it, but to his dismay, Laura said, "Say, could anyone give me their opinions on forgiveness? It's for school."

"This isn't the time, Laura," James said through gritted teeth. He had to admit, though, it was a good way to go about it. From what he'd seen, people who normally wouldn't answer a question tended to drop their guard when it was asked by a kid "for school."

"Oh?" Frank looked the most interested of anyone there. "I'd love to help!"

"Why don't we talk about this in the living room?" James suggested. That would give Walter his chance to sneak away.

"All right," Frank agreed.

As they started to head back, Laura began, "Okay, so say there's a person who's done something bad. Um, really bad. Really, really bad. Say this person hurt other people. If he was sorry, do you think they could forgive him?"

"Well, I think it would depend on the situation," Eileen said.

"Okay, say he tried to kill them," Laura said bluntly.

"Or nearly succeeded with one of them," James muttered, finally putting two and two together and realizing that Eileen was the tenant who had been attacked here in the building.

Frank clapped his hands together. "This sounds like a book I read once! I'll go get it; it's right in my room!"

"No, wait!" Angela shouted after him, as he turned and ran back in the other direction.

There was a _thump_, and then Frank's surprised voice saying, "Walter? They said you had left!"

James put his head in his hands yet again. From the sounds he could hear, it sounded like Frank was trying to pull Walter out of the room, and Walter was not making it easy for him. Unfortunately, they were causing enough of a commotion that Henry and Eileen started to go see what was happening.

"Wait!" Laura shouted, running after them. "You should talk to me about forgiveness first!"

"This is a disaster," Angela commented unhappily.

"Well, not yet," James pointed out. "Maybe Laura is right, and they'll just—" Eileen screamed, and he stopped. "Okay, you're right, it's a disaster."

"Walter Sullivan!" Henry shouted, sounding somewhere between enraged and disbelieving.

He came out from the hallway then. "Henry. Eileen. Don't worry, I was just leaving." He turned towards the door, and James breathed a sigh of relief.

Unfortunately, Frank ran after him and grabbed him by the arm. "Oh no you don't! I know what your game is! You're planning on running out and leaving me to take all the blame for the way the turkey was carved!"

Walter stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing. "You are the funniest man I've ever met. Why couldn't you have adopted me, instead of sending me to that _place_?"

Frank blinked. "Err…"

"You died," Henry said.

"Twice," Laura put in, nodding. "Now, as I was saying…"

"Laura," James said warningly, "why don't we just let Mr. Sullivan leave?"

"No!" Frank protested. "We were going to have a wonderful Thanksgiving with everyone together!"

"Dad, it's not exactly like they're your long-lost relatives!"

"I don't care. I refuse to have Thanksgiving ruined by these silly disputes!"

"He tried to kill us," Eileen finally explained. She was watching Walter like she expected him to attack at any minute.

Frank stared at her. "But how could he? You've only been here a few minutes, and I was with you the whole time!"

In spite of himself, James started to laugh. That was his father, all right, with his unique logic. He had missed him over the years.

"So anyway," Laura shouted, cutting through the argument that had just begun between Henry and Frank, "for my thing for school, there's this guy who tried to kill some people, but then he was really sorry, and they all got together for a holiday, because this is a story about holiday forgiveness, see, and—"

"Give it up, Laura," James advised. "They're not listening."

She sighed and looked distinctly unhappy, but she stopped talking.

"Stop," Angela said quietly. "It's fine. We'll leave."

Everyone fell silent and looked at her. "Why are you leaving, Angela?" Eileen finally asked.

She seemed a little uncomfortable with all of the attention, but she didn't falter. "Because I'm with Walter."

That launched a flurry of conversation, and while they all debated the meaning of the word "with," Frank escaped the group and ran for the kitchen, grabbing James's arm and pulling him along.

"Quick, help me set the table!" he cried, shoving a pile of plates at him.

James grabbed the plates and looked at the table. "Uh, Dad, what are we doing?"

"Having dinner, son; it's Thanksgiving, remember?"

He groaned and started putting the plates around. "No, I mean, why are we hurrying like this? And why did you give me seven plates?"

"Because there are seven of us," he replied, raising his eyebrows.

"Once Walter and Angela leave, there will only be five of us."

Frank deposited a pile of silverware on the table and nodded. "That's why we're hurrying."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand…"

"They can't leave once we've put food on the table for them! It would be rude!"

"Of course," he said, rolling his eyes. Only his father would do something like this. Nevertheless, he continued to help set the table. The other choice seemed to be joining the angry crowd by the door, and he didn't want to do that. He wondered if Angela still carried a knife with her.

Once the places were set, Frank came out with a pile of small cards, and began setting them around, one on each plate.

"What are those?" James asked.

"Place cards. You know, so people know where to sit."

"_Place cards?_ Wouldn't it be easier to let everyone sit where they want to sit?"

Frank shook his head. "Oh no, that would lead to fights."

"Everyone wants to sit at the head of the table?"

"You laugh, but I remember Thanksgivings when I was young, and believe me, everyone fought over seating arrangements! Then one year, my mother started putting out place cards. Then, no one fought anymore, because they didn't have to decide where to sit. Someone had decided for them, and they wouldn't argue with authority like that."

James gave up and started looking at the place cards. "Dad, you're going to have to switch some of these."

"Why?"

James indicated the offending cards, and he came over to see. "You've got Walter next to Henry. Under the circumstances, I don't think that would be good."

"You may be right. We always had to be careful when these family disputes were going on." He picked up Walter's card and switched it with another one. "There."

Checking the new arrangements, James winced. "Yes, but now he's next to Eileen."

Frank frowned and swapped her card with another.

"Now you've split up the three of them, but won't Henry and Eileen want to sit together?"

He threw his hands into the air. "Fine, James, you arrange them, then."

James smiled to himself and gathered up the place cards. He changed them around until he found an arrangement that looked suitable—provided, of course, that Frank actually convinced these people to sit down to dinner with one another.

"Dinner is ready!" Frank shouted. "Come on, everybody!"

"We were just leaving," Walter reminded him.

"Oh no you're not. That would be rude. You're my guest for Thanksgiving, and you're going to eat with us!"

"He murdered nineteen people!" Henry protested.

"Eighteen," Walter, Angela, and Laura replied in unison.

Frank stared at them and then looked over for help.

"The eleventh was suicide," James supplied.

"Why did you do all that?"

"It's a long story," Walter muttered. He started to edge towards the door.

"Come back here," Frank ordered, folding his arms and looking annoyed. "Now, let's just let the past be the past and sit down to enjoy Thanksgiving!"

He glared in such a way that he managed to look like the most dangerous person in the room, which James thought was quite an accomplishment. He quickly sat down so that his father would think he was trying to be helpful. After a few long minutes, everyone else made their way over to the table as well. James had separated them as best as he could in the short amount of time. Henry and Eileen were seated across from one another at one end of the table, he was next to Henry and across from Frank, Angela was next to him and across from Laura, and Walter was next to Angela and across from no one at all.

"Wonderful." Frank smiled. "I'll bring in the food."

It was a fairly traditional Thanksgiving meal, with well-prepared mashed potatoes, peas, cranberry sauce, a platter of cold vegetables, and other side dishes. The turkey was a little less traditional, since it was in a bowl and had to be scooped out with a spoon. James hadn't thought it was possible to mess up cutting meat that badly.

"What an interesting way to prepare the turkey," Eileen said politely into the strained silence that hung over the table.

"Oh, thank Walter," Frank said with a nod. "He helped me use the electric knife."

"You let him use the knife?" Henry asked.

Frank looked puzzled, and James shook his head sharply to give him the idea that he shouldn't comment.

Surprisingly, it was almost a pleasant time. The table was largely silent, but the hostility wasn't as painfully obvious as it had been earlier. He supposed it was hard to radiate your hatred towards someone when you were asking them if they would please pass the cranberry sauce.

In spite of everything that had happened, he had to admit that Frank was right. It was nice to have a big group together again for Thanksgiving, even if they weren't all family, and even if some of them hated each other. And yes, even if one of them had killed eighteen people. He felt oddly happy.

The only thing he could think of that would have made it a more wonderful time—well, other than not having to worry that he was sitting in no-man's-land—was Mary.

Tears filled his eyes as the thought hit him. Yes, that was the one thing that would have made it perfect. He missed her so much.

"James?" Frank asked. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was just wishing that I could still spend Thanksgiving with Mary. It's…such a special time."

"It is," he agreed.

"I always liked Thanksgiving," Angela said awkwardly. "Things were always better on holidays. People were around, so no one could…do anything…"

Eileen once again tried to fill the uncomfortable silence that followed. "I haven't had Thanksgiving with my family in years. We used to have some interesting times together. Once, this woman came, and everyone assumed she had come with someone else. It turned out that no one knew her; she had just walked in. We haven't had a large gathering like that in a while, though. I guess it just stopped being a tradition."

"I haven't _seen_ my family in years," Henry mumbled. "I wonder if they ever think of me."

"I don't even _have_ a family," Walter sighed. "Holidays were always depressing. Do you know what it's like to be an orphan on Thanksgiving?"

"I do," Laura said glumly.

"What is the matter with you people?" Frank demanded. "This is _Thanks_giving Day. It is not _Depression_ Day. We shouldn't be talking about the things that make us sad, but the things that make us happy! I'll start. I'm thankful that I'm here with this wonderful group of people, celebrating Thanksgiving! Go, Eileen, you're up!"

Eileen blinked. "Um, I'm thankful…to be alive."

"Henry?"

"I'll second that. I'm thankful to be alive and to not be trapped in my room anymore, not that anyone _here_ would know anything about that."

"James?" Frank asked, with a note of warning in his voice.

He only had to think for a moment. "I'm thankful that I'm not in Silent Hill."

"…Angela?"

"I'm also thankful that I'm not in Silent Hill. Um, I'm also thankful that I met Walter." She smiled at him, and he actually blushed.

"Walter?"

"I think everyone summed it up for me. I'm thankful to be alive, I'm thankful I'm not in Silent Hill, and I'm certainly thankful I met Angela." He smiled nervously at her, and it was her turn to blush.

James wondered if they had any idea how awkward they seemed around one another, like each liked the other but had no idea of how to express it.

"Laura?" Frank asked with a sigh.

"I'm thankful for normal things," she said, raising her eyebrows at the rest of them. "I'm thankful for my friends at school, and for my new bicycle, and for the first snowfall, and for this boring family visit turning out to be a lot of fun."

James laughed, and the mood became slightly lighter. They returned to eating in silence for a while, but he could tell from the way his father was looking around that he was trying to think of another conversation to start.

"So, Henry, what made you decide to take up photography?"

"Err…" He seemed surprised. "I just find it enjoyable. I get to see a lot of beautiful places. I can work alone, and on my own hours. That's about it…"

"Oh." He seemed flustered by how short of a conversation that had been. "Well, Laura, what do you want to be when you get older?"

"I don't know," she said, while taking another piece of turkey.

"Maybe you'd like to be a photographer!"

"No, I don't think so."

He sighed. "You don't have any idea at all?"

"No."

"You really ought to be thinking about that sometime," James advised her.

And then that conversation was over, too. Before very long, Frank tried again, and this time, James suspected he hadn't thought very much about what he was saying before he said it.

"So, Walter, what made you decide to take up serial killing?"

Walter—and in fact, everyone in the room who had been taking a bite of food when the question was asked—choked and stared at him.

"It was just a question!" he cried. "Why is everyone staring at me? There are stranger careers in the world!"

"It's a long story," Walter said, as he had before.

"Yeah, and you're not going to finish telling it even to me, are you?" Laura muttered. "Jerk."

"It's a very painful story!" he retorted.

"Literally, for some of us," Henry said quietly.

"Let's just let the past be," Angela pleaded.

"You know about it?" Eileen asked. She sounded surprised.

"Yes."

"Well, I don't," Laura reminded them.

"Let it be, Laura," James warned.

"But he told me he'd tell a story!"

"Oh, fine," Henry said. "_I'll _tell the story. There was a crazy cult called the Order—"

"You can't start there," Eileen protested. "Let me start. Once upon a time, there was a room."

James looked around. "I'm getting the feeling that everyone knows the story but the Sunderlands."

"I'm not a Sunderland," Laura pointed out.

"You're a Sunderland by adoption."

"Oh goody."

"I'll save you all a lot of time," Walter said, standing up. "No one is going to tell the story."

"You're not leaving," Frank warned him. "You haven't had the pie yet."

"Did anyone bring pumpkin pie?" Laura asked.

No one answered.

"Apple it is," she sighed. "James, I thought you said Angela had pumpkin pie."

"I was going to eat it later, at home," she explained.

"Oh, where are you living now?" James asked.

"There's another nice apartment building in Ashfield. I have an apartment there. Walter got one, too."

"Oh no," Henry said, looking stricken.

"Don't worry, I'm not your neighbor," Walter said, finally sitting down again. "I made sure I didn't recognize any of the tenants' names."

"I'll get the pie," Frank said. He got up and returned in a minute with the apple pie. It was only big enough for each of them to have a single piece, but James thought it was pretty good for a last-minute buy.

When everyone was done with their pie, they all looked around uncomfortably. One person started to rise, and then suddenly everyone decided it was time to stand up and push in their chairs. It wasn't clear what was going to happen next. Would everyone politely leave? Would Walter make his escape at last? Would Henry beat him to it?

None of these things happened, because Frank got up, waved in the direction of the living room, and said, "Well, let's go!"

For a moment, no one said anything, and then James finally asked, "What are we going to do, Dad?"

He seemed surprised. "Watch football, of course!"

"_Football?_"

"Yes, football." He stared at them like he thought they all were crazy. "It's a tradition…"

"Actually, I think it's a sport," Angela said. She looked away when Laura started to giggle.

"No, I mean watching football on Thanksgiving is a tradition for the guys!"

"For the guys? What do the girls do?" Eileen asked.

He shrugged, looking bewildered. "How should I know? I've always been one of the guys!"

Eileen raised her eyebrows, and then she stepped around the table and held out a hand to Angela. Apparently she had joined Frank's peace crusade. "Come on, let's leave them to their football, then."

Angela was visibly startled, but she slowly reached out and shook Eileen's hand. "All right then."

xXx

About fifteen minutes after Frank had cajoled the rest of them into joining him in the living room, James was already wishing he had found a reason to stay with the "girls" instead. It wasn't that he particularly disliked football, but at least Angela and Eileen, who had remained at the table, were smiling and laughing. The atmosphere in the living room was somewhere between dull and tense. He had never realized such a thing was possible.

He, Frank, and Henry were sitting on the couch. Frank at least seemed to be enjoying the game. He occasionally shouted at the television and slapped each of them on the backs companionably. Henry didn't seem like he was a fan of the game at all.

Walter was now sitting in the chair next to the couch, and Laura was perched on the arm of the chair. Apparently she didn't mind being one of the "guys." Walter had tried watching the game for a little bit, but eventually he had given in and started to quietly tell Laura the story of his life. This may have had to do with the fact that she had hit his arm for a solid minute before he had agreed.

James glanced back at where the two women were sitting. He had never expected Angela to giggle about anything, but apparently she was capable of it. He wondered what they were talking about.

"Yes!" Frank cheered, as his preferred team scored again.

"Can we watch something else?" Henry asked.

"What, and miss the rest of the game?"

"Yes."

"No football?"

"Please?"

"Oh, fine," he sighed, picking up the remote control. "Now, let me see…I think I remember reading that a good horror movie was going to be on now…"

"Never mind," Henry said quickly, taking the control from him. "Football's fine."

They went back to watching the game, and James wondered if being bored was also part of the tradition. Then again, even though it wasn't a close game by any stretch of the imagination, Frank was practically on the edge of his seat.

Beside them, Walter finally concluded his story, ending with, "So, I guess if my mother hadn't…abandoned me…"

"You wouldn't have done it?" Laura asked. She frowned. "That's silly. I'm an orphan, and I'm not a crazy murderer."

James looked over in case he needed to intervene, but Walter just swatted her on the arm.

"When I was your age, _I_ wasn't a crazy murderer, either."

"Oh?" she asked. She suddenly looked very interested. "How old were you?"

"Laura," James cut in hastily, "why don't you go talk to Eileen and Angela for a while?" When he had said she should be thinking about a future career, that wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.

"Why?"

"I think you're annoying Mr. Sullivan."

Walter looked surprised. "Oh, not too much. And she can call me Walter; I don't mind."

James put his head in his hands.

Frank suddenly stood up. "Well, that's it, the game's over."

"You know," Henry said, "I don't know a lot about football, but even I can tell the game's not over."

"My team is losing by 81 points," he explained. "The rest of the game just won't be worth watching."

"Losing?" James demanded, taking a closer look at the screen. "I thought you were rooting for the other team! Why did you cheer every time they scored?"

"Reverse psychology."

He wasn't even going to ask.

"Well, I guess this is it, then," Frank said, as the rest of them got up. "Happy Thanksgiving, everyone."

"Yes, Happy Thanksgiving," Henry said, joining Eileen by the door. "It was…different."

Angela looked happier than James had ever seen her. "We'll have to get together sometime to talk again," she said, waving to Eileen.

Eileen looked around awkwardly. "Well, uh…"

"Don't worry…it'll be on a day when certain neighbors aren't around," she assured her, smiling over at Walter.

He bent to touch his forehead against hers and smiled at her fondly.

That seemed to startle both Henry and Eileen quite a bit.

"This was the best Thanksgiving ever!" Laura cried, as the four guests left—each pair not walking too close to the other, of course. "We should do this for every holiday! Can we invite them back for Christmas?"

"I think we should give them a little time to recover from this one, first," James said.

"Well, I guess you two will be heading home, then?" Frank asked.

James looked at the clock. "Yeah, we really should be on our way, I guess. Thanks, Dad, for trying to have a wonderful Thanksgiving."

He laughed. "Aw, you two would have made it a special day for me, even without them. You're my favorite relatives ever!" He hugged them both, looking like he might cry.

"I love you too, Dad," James said.

"Bye, Frank!"

When they were out in the hallway and on their way to the doors, Laura asked, "So, was I good?"

He groaned. "Well…"

"Oh come on, James!" she protested. "I didn't do anything bad!"

"You spent a lot of time annoying a very dangerous man…"

She blinked. "What, Walter? Oh, he's not dangerous any more; he gave it up! Now he's nice. So what you're really doing is telling me that making friends with another lonely orphan is bad. How does that make you feel, James?"

He started to laugh, unable to help himself. "Laura, have I mentioned that I love you?"

"What?"

"When we were talking at dinner, I should have said it then—I am thankful to have a daughter like you."

"Oh." She glanced down, seeming embarrassed. "Well, I love you too, James. I guess as dads go, you aren't that bad. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."

They reached the doors in silence, and then she asked, "So, we're going to have the other pie when we get home, right?"

Laughing, he patted her on the shoulder, and they left South Ashfield Heights. It had been a very good Thanksgiving Day indeed.

* * *

_Note: And a very Happy Thanksgiving to all of you! I hope you like this story and don't think I'm too crazy...regardless, this was a blast to write. Incidentally, Eileen's story about a mysterious woman coming to a Thanksgiving dinner and all of the relatives assuming she had come with someone else was an actual story told to me by a classmate in 7th grade. I doubt he's reading this, but if he is, thanks!  
If I could dedicate a fanfic, I'd dedicate this one to all of the zany Thanksgiving comedy episodes that I love so much. Again, a Happy Thanksgiving to everyone reading! _


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